The Hessian and the Lady
by DuchessofBlackandRedRoses
Summary: HessianOC original title The Hessian Finds a Witch. After years of sitting on the back burner, I decided to muster some motivation and do a re-write on this story. It's based on Tim Burton's Sleepy Hollow to which I claim no ownership except my OC. Enjoy!
1. Chapter I

The night was calm. Too calm. A swamp of mist was steadily flooding a field of crops and hay, as well as the neighboring dead and dying forest; the Western Woods. The amount of moisture became so great, that it finally expressed the grumbling of several thunderbolts. Bleating of sheep could be heard as several clusters of livestock hustled from the Woods and through the fields. Soon after another blinding electric crackle and strike of lightning, the thundering of heavy hooves and the toughened whinny of a warhorse was heard through the blue veil of the night.

Astride the galloping steed was the Hessian mercenary. The wind did nothing to help his already tangled tousled pitch-black hair. His electrified blue eyes searched hungrily for his target. It didn't take long for the Hessian to find what he was looking for. Not far off, in a pathetic shriveled garden, was a young woman shrouded in a dark cloak. She was crouched amongst the dead vegetation, digging in vain for any potential tubers in the clumped soil, a chipped china bowl beside her for findings.

Hearing the neigh of Daredevil, she whipped up her head. What her eyes perceived, was a little more than bone chilling. Suddenly forgetting her task, the girl abandoned her patch, climbed over the wooden fence that caged most of the lonely plot and cottage, and started to run for what her life was worth.

As the Hessian neared the wooden fence, his horse Daredevil sped over the barren garden, his heavy hooves crunching down on the ceramic bowl, crushing and scattering its few contents. His sturdy legs kicked up clods and demolished rows. The garden and its meager crop was ruined.

As Daredevil ascended over the log fence, the air from the jump hurled itself at the Hessian's cloak, billowing it out like a pair of bat's wings. Whatever clouds had been blown across the moon to shroud it, were shoved aside as milky blue-silver fingers reached down to stroke the Horseman's black armor. It was a truly demonic sight.

In the Woods Isabelle darted through the trees, her eyes flashing for any hope of escape: a random cave, a gulch to jump in, a hidden hollow, anything!

"Agh!" She panted in dismay.

Branches as thin as whippets seemed to weave themselves into a web of stinging whips whose sole purpose was to deliberately slow her flee by grabbing at Isabelle's clothes and hair, and clawing her face. Sharp pebbles and thorny broken twigs bit at her ankles and feet. Instead of slowing _his _chase, branches and roots recoiled and shrunk away from the Hessian in fear. With every pounding stride, Daredevil was getting closer and closer to Isabelle's sprinting figure.

Within reaching distance, the Horseman stretched a gloved hand to snatch Isabelle. Right as his gloved fingers closed around a multiple of gather of folds of her dark cloak, Isabelle slipped on a stack of wet leaves and she tumbled. For a brief moment her cloak choked her, releasing a guttural 'hoik" from her gullet as the ties ripped. Suddenly all the Hessian gripped was a bundle of dingy wool. Isabelle hit the ground with her arms splayed. Daredevil slammed his heavy hoof down on Isabelle's left forearm, skillfully snapping the bones. With a squawk of pain, Isabelle scrambled up and fled in the opposite direction.

The Horseman expertly turned Daredevil around riding Isabelle down. Isabelle clenched her jaw, trying with every fibre in her body not to stop, scream bloody-murder- from the excruciating pain her nerves were sending. The pain in her arm was so engulfing, Isabelle failed to notice her slowing pace nor the Horseman rapidly approaching.

Out of the blue, a black armored, gloved arm whipped out and snaked itself tightly around Isabelle's corseted waist, yanking her off the ground and slinging her over the saddle in an inverted V. Riding off, the Hessian smiled a sharp smile and his unorthodox eyes gleamed with satisfaction. His target was obtained.

'Owowowow.' The rhythmic pounding of Daredevil's hooves on the hard cold ground of the Western Woods drowned out Isabelle's whimpers as her arm flopped at an awkward angle against the damned horse's rippling flank. With every flop, a wave of excruciating pain ate at Isabelle's shattered arm. It felt as if a thousand hell dogs were gnawing at every particle of her left forearm.

Whilst the Horseman steered his mound his undead mind wandered. His gloved hand rested on the small of Isabelle's back, steadying so his target wouldn't slip off. But even with his gloves, he could feel the delicious fear and pain radiating in warm waves off his prize's fragile body. Isabelle's chocolate locks had been previously swept into a hasty twist, and as she was fleeing from the Horseman, her hair unfurled from it's knot; now it streamed from her skull like a flag, cloaking her face and gleaming in the shards of moonlight that dared to show itself through the distorted and blackened branches of the Western Woods.

The Horseman felt tempted to stop Daredevil and take his prize's innocence—if she still had it-right now on the chilly earth, when a nicker from his ghostly steed stole his attention. They were in front of the Tree of the Dead.

Isabelle's labored sounds of pain were now quite audible, increasing his stimulation by the second.

"Huh?" Isabelle craned her neck to see what the cursed horse had stopped for. Facing them was a soot-coloured, distorted, and monstrous-looking tree. She shuddered involuntarily.

'It looks like it wants to gobble me up.' She thought.

The sounds of gurgles and squelches fed her fears as an opening unraveled itself, releasing rivulets of blood, its fingerlike twigs and roots curling and uncurling invitingly. Daredevil backed a few paces, before lunging toward the gateway. Isabelle screamed as the sickeningly warm heads and blood muscle like sides touched her face, arms, and bare feet, greeting her to an unknown hell.


	2. Chapter 2

With a squelch and a spray of blood, a blood-drenched Isabelle and the Hessian Horseman leapt through the other side of the gateway. Their ghostly steed let out a snort as his heavy hooves punched the ground. As they charged across the land, Isabelle angled her head to find out where they were heading. The minute she shook apart her crimson-crusted tresses to see, she promptly let out a loud 'BWAH!!!' of shock. The haunted land was filled with headless ghosts! Rococo aristocrats from the Reign of Terror, Tudor courtiers, common convicts, and strange tanned ghosts that were sporting odd silk robes that were secured by bands of wide stiff fabric. Each neck was exposed to the steely sky and gleamed with still-wet blood. Some phantoms had their heads with them, carrying them in their hands. Many of the ghosts' clothing were stained with large splotches and peony petals of dried blood.

As Daredevil jumped over a fallen tree, Isabelle's broken arm thwacked against one of the thick branches, bringing her back to grim reality. She let out a great yell, and tears of fear and pain began coursing down her bloody cheeks. "Oh God, what had I done to deserve this? Which deity have I accidentally provoked into punishment? Who?!" She sobbed inwardly? All Isabelle wanted was to go home to her little cottage on the edge of Sleepy Hollow, where she and her little cat Gigi lived. Eventually, the pain of her broken arm became too much to bear, and Isabelle faded.

Suddenly Daredevil stopped. They were standing in the courtyard of a foreboding Gothic manor.

The courtyard was comprised of alabaster pillars marking the entrance. Platforms displayed carved urns, and statues of hooded angels with mangled wings stood at various positions of the courtyard. Leading up to the entrance of the manor was a grand bone-white marble stone stairway. The Hessian dismounted Daredevil and lifted Isabelle's limp body and placed her on his shoulder like a bag of flour. Without further ado, the Horseman proceeded to stride into the manor.

When Isabelle came to, she found herself lying in a sumptuous four-poster bed. As she propped herself up, she noticed that her left arm was bandaged and set in a splint.

"Where the hell am I?" she wondered as she observed her splendid settings. "This place kind of reminds me of the rooms of Versailles that Maman used to tell me about….." The bed linens and the graceful canopy hanging above were made of a delicious amber and sapphire blue silk taffeta and damask; the chaise and chairs were of cherry wood and upholstered with cream velvet. There was also a vanity and stool in one corner of the chamber, both carved out of cherry wood. Splayed all over the walls were sapphire silk velvet curtains; scattered around the rest of the chamber were tables and other various pieces of furniture.

It wasn't until Isabelle pushed her hair out of her eyes that she realized just how filthy she was. She was covered in dried blood and dirt. There were brittle twigs and dead leaves in her matted grimy tresses. Isabelle's ankles and feet were coated with cuts, bruises, and dried mud. Isabelle looked down and let out a groan of dismay—her robe a l'anglaise was ruined!—the dress was streaked, splattered, just plain covered in blood, mud, and grass stains; the hem to her knees was in shreds, and there were terrible rents all over the gown. 'Bugger, I liked this dress,' she mentally whined.

As Isabelle got off the bed and proceeded to explore her bedchamber, she mused, "What wouldn't I give a bath." Almost instantly Isabelle felt someone seize her shoulders and steer her into a chamber where a grand tub of steaming scented water, awaited her. Dry lavender steeped in the water, giving it a light lilac hue, the flowers floating about lazily. Invisible hands immediately began to remove her clothing, while the remaining scraps of Isabelle's sleeve on her left arm were cut off. Before you could say "Jackson Robinson" Isabelle found herself standing only in her chemise, stays, and pocket hoops. The invisible hands unlaced her stays and untied her pocket hoops. With one stroke of the unseeable digit down her back, Isabelle's dirty cotton chemise hit the floor in strips, leaving her completely naked and thoroughly unnerved.

After several minutes of standing in the remains of her clothing trembling, Isabelle slowly turned around to face her disrober only to find nobody. Attempting nonchalance, she edged cautiously towards the tub. Testing the water's temperature, Isabelle sunk in. Bars of soap and wash cloths wielded by unseen hands, immediately started rubbing Isabelle's skin clean. Within an hour, Isabelle's skin was shining a healthy pink, though marred by pepperings of scratches and cuts. The bathwater though, was not that far removed from a supernatural pond; the water shimmered a thin watery red and there was a layer of fine sediment and leaves at the bottom of the tub. Animated towels began to srub Isabelle's body dry, while a fresh splint, complete with pristine cotton white bandages, gently wrapped itself around her broken left arm. Soon, a delicate chemise and a dressing gown of such fine quality that Isabelle could only dream of, hung from her shoulders. Her abused feet were bandaged and gloved in new stockings and soft slippers.

Honored and frightened by this strange pampering, Isabelle allowed herself to be steered back to her chamber where she discovered an ensemble of garments that had been laid out for her; a sumptuous robe a la polonaise, made of cream and coral pink striped silk, trimmed in matching cream ruffles. Placed beside the gown was a pair embroidered stays, panniers, a dainty petticoat, and various other pieces of clothing. On the floor, at the foot of the bed, stood a pair of pink silk mules, trimmed with white ribbons stood patiently.

"Excellent!" Isabelle gleefully noted, forgetting her unease momentarily.

Without further ado the rich garments entwining themselves about her slender frame. The seemingly benign actions suddenly began to overwhelm her, 'This is too much!' she rushedly thought as her mind began to race. Her fingers to feverishly fiddled with the ribbons on her chemise. "UWAH!!" She shrieked, upon discovering her self clothed.

Feeling faint, Isabelle allowed herself to be led to the vanity where animated combs coiffed her drying tresses into a silken and glossy mass of loops and coils. Failing to notice this as well, Isabelle stared unseeing into the vanity's mirror. It was wasn't until a pale cold hand touched Isabelle's contrasting flesh whilst laying a ribbon choker across her slender neck that she was startled back into grim reality. Isabelle jumped, stared at her paling reflection, and let out a frightened cry—it was the Hessian!!

Like a deer caught in the headlights, Isabelle was paralyzed with fear. It was the eyes. It had to have been. Those electrified blue eyes held Isabelle rooted to the spot in a vice-like grip. When the Hessian parted his lips and bared his filed teeth in a grimacing half grin, the spell was broken. Isabelle wasted no time in bolting from her spot in a desperate attempt to escape. Unfortunately, the Hessian's hand shot out, quick as lightning, and grabbed Isabelle's broken. Isabelle let out a ragged whimper of pain and tears began to well up in her eyes. After what seemed like an eternity, the Hessian let go of Isabelle's arm, and Isabelle sank to the ground clutching her left arm sobbing quietly, letting out ragged gasps every now and then. The Horseman bent down, picked up Isabelle, and carried her over to the chaise.

Isabelle then noticed that the Hessian Horseman was wearing something other than the armor he wore when he kidnapped her. He was wearing a black shirt, an ebony and silver vest; black breeches, stockings, and black shoes. As Isabelle's breathing slowed down, she felt her eyes wandering of their own accord, until they found the Hessian's frosted sapphire eyes. It took Isabelle little time to lose herself in those eyes; it was as if they were bottomless seas. After what seemed like hours, she pulled her sight away from the Horseman's face, Isabelle then did something very typical of ladies of her time: she fainted. The Hessian blinked a few times, then grinned his filed teeth in amusement. He then picked up Isabelle for a second time and carried her over to the four poster bed. What the unnight shall bring, only time will tell……………………

* * *

Mewls and gasps of pleasure pierced the heavy hot air as confident, cocky lips conquered eager flesh; teasing fingers trailed streaks of shimmering sensations that would fade away too quickly for Isabelle's liking. The saucy lips lowered themselves to the hollow of Isabelle's throat and began to pay homage by nipping gently and licking said bites to soothe them, causing delicious cinnamon coral waves of a rich feeling to ripple through-out Isabelle's body from the intensity of it all. Isabelle strained to see her mysterious lover's face, but the chamber was too dark. Fluttering butterfly moans and intangible writhing snakes of feverish heat filled the room. As her lover continued his ministrations, the coral waves began to lap harder at Isabelle's stomach. Suddenly, a geyser of shuddering hot pleasure shot through her core, sending Isabelle's mind to another plane, and as it went with its course, all the tapers in Isabelle's chamber suddenly illuminated, setting the room ablaze in crisp light. Trembling as her orgasm diminished, Isabelle slowly regained her sight, but the minute she locked eye contact with a pair of familiar icy sapphire eyes, her heart stopped and her blood ran cold.


	3. Chapter 3

Feeling like lightning had struck her, Isabelle jerked awake. She found herself on a four-poster canopy bed.

"Where am I?" she wondered as she sat up gingerly and observed her splendid settings. The bed linens and the graceful canopy hanging above were made of a delicious amber and sapphire blue silk taffeta and damask; the chaise and chairs were of cherry wood and upholstered with cream velvet. There was also a vanity and stool in one corner of the chamber, both carved out of cherry wood. Splayed all over the walls were sapphire silk velvet curtains. The room was lit up, not at all cloaked in darkness, and as she looked down, Isabelle found herself fully clothed in her new cream-and-coral-pink striped robe a la polonaise.

Hindered by her stays and bumroll Isabelle wriggled with as much dignity as humanly possible off the four-poster bed. After a few minutes of debating, Isabelle mustered up the courage to venture outside of her chamber. After a few minutes of searching behind multiple curtains, Isabelle found multiple doors leading to different rooms, the bathing chamber, a powdering room, and a built in wardrobe. On her fourth try, she found a pair of doors that led outside her room. Taking a deep breath, Isabelle pushed them open, and stepped out.

The corridor she entered was long, stretched out like a snake on a torture rack. Where the beams of moonlight couldn't reach out their glowing fingers and illuminate the air from the dusty cobwebbed chandeliers, equally dusty cobwebbed candelabras stood perched on pedestals to light up the shadowed nooks and crannies.

Every scrap and centimeter of the hall was richly furnished and of high quality. However the beautiful marble floors, the heavy silk drapes, and gold accents couldn't make up for the frigid and stiff atmosphere that hung over Isabelle's head like a dead goose.

Cautiously, Isabelle inched forward slowly down one end of the corridor, her shoes making soft clacking sounds against the marble, her eyes darting all over the place, wary of someone jumping out unexpectedly. Suddenly Isabelle accidentally knocked over a bust, and a secret passageway reeled into view. Her curiosity overwhelming over her caution, Isabelle ventured into the passageway. The walls were rough, damp, and medieval, with brackets holding torches that burned blue flames. A few feet later, and a staircase unfurled, spiraling down into the recesses of the shadows, the bowels of the imagination. With her hand clutching the spine of the staircase for support, Isabelle edged down the steps.

Just when she thought the flight of stairs would never end—it finished after one more curve. After pausing to let her cramped legs rest Isabelle continued. The cramped tunnel opened up to a more spacious corridor. In the shadowed distance, there was a ball of light. With the sound of her mules' heels clicking against the stone floor echoing, Isabelle ventured toward the light.

"How many other times do you find yourself in a situation where you're walking down towards a light at the end of a dark tunnel?" she punned quietly.

At this quip, Isabelle snorted to herself. Reaching the luminous orb took less time than she expected. The corridor expanded into a circular chamber with an arched entrance carved out of granite. The air was strangely lit up, despite the fact that there were no candles or windows to let in light. It was a peculiar bright white light, nearly blinding, but not to the point where Isabelle couldn't see. As her eyes adjusted it, a small scratching sound caught her attention. She turned to her left and was greeted with a horrific sight. Her eyes widened, her face turned ashen, and a blood-curdling scream clawed out of her mouth.

Isabelle screamed and screamed and screamed. Her shrieking bounced off the walls, echoing until it sounded like ten or twenty Isabelles were in the chamber. Isabelle stood rooted to the spot, unable to run away from the gruesome sight that petrified her so:

Splayed on the wall like a disturbing hunting trophy, was the withered corpse of a woman. She hung from the wall in a spread-eagle position, yet there seemed to be no hooks supporting her. Her mouth was twisted violently into a silent wail of pure horror; the expression made even more grotesque by her dead withered face. The clothing that hung from her shriveled frame, which must've once been a sumptuous gown, was now a tattered bloodstained wreck. From what Isabelle could discern, it was originally a white silk-with-a-black-celtic-knot-braid-overlay robe a l'anglaise. The corpse's pale hair was matted and tangled, there were visible patches on her scalp, giving the impression that several chunks of hair hand been ripped right out of her skull. The corpse's right hand was contorted into a mummified claw, the left hand was….well….missing. Right until the middle of the forearm, the rest of the arm was gone. Isabelle instinctively clutched her own left arm when she noticed that ominous detail.

When feeling suddenly flooded back into Isabelle's legs she wasted not even a second to flee from that sight of horror. With wings on her feet, she flew down the corridor, while yells of fear continued to stream from her mouth. The yells were soon replaced with irregular pants of hyperventilation and exertion. Isabelle soon reached the flight of stairs, pausing only to hitch up the hems of her gown and petticoats; then she proceeded to race up the stairs. However, her mind was so consumed with concentration on getting from that wretched chamber that she failed to notice a lopsided step coming her way. Poor Isabelle tripped, fell, and landed heavily on her left forearm. She let out a shrill shriek of pain and began to whimper piteously from the agony that crashashawed in her arm and feathered out from there through her body. Isabelle could do nothing but clutch and cradle her arm as she lied on the steps, rendered paralyzed from the torture.

How much time passed, Isabelle did not know. 'Does time even exist in this place?' she wondered. As Isabelle stared at the rough stonework of the stairs, her mind wandered back to her home in Sleepy Hollow, to her darling cat Gigi, and about Mother and Father, whom she had not thought about in a very long time.

_Father had died in a strange accident when Isabelle was two years old. He had been fixing the roof when he supposedly slipped on a loose shingle and fell off the roof and was impaled upon the iron fence. Isabelle had been out playing in a meadow quite a way's away_ _and thankfully never saw her father's corpse. All she remembered was Mother taking her to the Killians to spend a few days with them. When they told her the news, Isabelle vaguely understood that Father was gone._

_The event broke Mother's spirit. From then on, she devoted her life to teaching Isabelle her basic education. Isabelle loved her mother with all her heart. Mother was her best friend, her teacher, and her confidante; everything a girl could ever ask for. Isabelle was taught to read, write, and employ various other subjects that she would be in need of throughout her life. Mother was as wonderful a teacher as any other local schoolteacher. But alas, the couple's happiness was not to last: On a chilly November morning, a fourteen-year-old Isabelle woke up to find her mother's cot empty and the house drafty from the open door. In the night, Mother had walked out of the house and was swallowed up by the shadows. As numbness spread through Isabelle's body like a slow poison, Isabelle curled up in her mother's cot and wept from sorrow that she would never see her mother again in the lifetime, but also wept from a hazy grey sort of happiness as well: Mother was reunited with Father._

_Afterwards, Isabelle answered everyone's questions with a lie that her mother had died of a fever. The only villager Isabelle admitted the truth to, was Midwife Killian. As part of their condolences, the Killians gave Isabelle an ash coloured kitten, which she christened Gigi. To avoid suspicion about her mother's grave, Isabelle went to the meadow where her father's grave lied, and she dug up an adjacent false grave._

_For the next few years, life for Isabelle passed in a skewed normalcy. She maintained a close relationship with the Killians. Even though she had a small pathetic garden (that often failed to bear much bounty), and receiving the occasional gift of meat and bread from the Killians, paying taxes left such little money for necessities that Isabelle was often forced to slip into the feared Western Woods to catch game. To earn money, Isabelle labored as a seamstress or she concocted draughts to sell to Midwife Killian. The positions didn't pay much, but together, they were enough to make ends meet. When the Headless Horseman began murdering villagers, Isabelle, like the rest of the town, started retreating into her cottage extra early every night. She hung charms around her home and she bolted the doors every evening. When Constable Crane arrived in Sleepy Hollow, on All Hallow's Eve, Isabelle was charmed by his attractive nervousness. The next few days however, began to spin dow—_

The sound of footsteps crunching down the stone steps brought Isabelle back into grim reality. A pair of strong arms snaked around her body, lifted her off the ground and began to carry her up the flight of stairs.


End file.
